The Florida State Fair takes place in February –– a fact that continues to surprise me, despite knowing full well what the weather is going to be like in August.

Heading to the Fairgrounds, I find I have just enough intestinal fortitude to share a single deep-fried delight (A plain but weighty elephant ear this year. 2014 was the year of the maple-bacon funnel cake), but a perhaps endless appetite for the livestock aisles.

There was a bit of drama among the fowl. Imagine the scene at home for this guy:

Story #1 Setting: A modest living space, well-lit but with very sparse furnishings. Our hero enters in a state of greater-than-usual dishevelment and begins in a rush: "I'm ADOPTED?! Mother, how could you let me go to the Fair, knowing what would happen? You know what? I'm GLAD to be going to the slaughterhouse. You ruined my life!"

Story #2The scene is a long dining table. The murmur of voices diminishes, and from the head of the table, a deep male voice rings out:"So, it appears that Junior here is NOT a Cochin? Marge, is there something you want to tell us?"

Story #3And in the hot-headed world of the Telenovela:" 'Cochin' mi culo! Más como cochina!"